


The Westwood Murders

by redlipstickblackdress



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Blood, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Implied Sexual Content, Murder Mystery, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 15,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlipstickblackdress/pseuds/redlipstickblackdress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John begins dating a woman who works for fashion designer Vivienne Westwood, and soon, a string of murders take place in the world of fashion.  Her flat mate and Sherlock are remarkably alike, and may be the perfect match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Introduction and a Deduction

Four lives were unexpectedly changed in a small bookstore on a crisp autumn day in London. It all started when Sherlock Holmes entered the store to search for a book that would help him with one of his cases – he was a consulting detective, the only in the world. He had brought his friend and flat mate along with him, and John Watson looked around to take in the new environment. 

Meanwhile, an aisle over, two young American women were browsing the shelves, having not been able to take all of their books with them when they had moved to London for their new jobs. The shorter of the two, Alice, turned to check out the next aisle when she tripped on a book that was sticking too far out of the bookshelves and landed right into the arms of something warm and soft. That something, she saw when she looked at it, was a cute man with dirty blond hair and darkish silver-blue eyes. He was wearing a very soft white jumper and his mouth curved up slightly in a smile while he looked down at her. The man helped her upright and she blushed. Alice’s friend came around the shelf to see what was going on. 

“Sorry about that,” Alice said, glancing at John.

“Not at all,” he said, still smiling at her a bit. “I’m John Watson, and this is my friend Sherlock Holmes,” he introduced, holding a hand out for her to shake. 

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Alice Maven, this is Gwen Forrest,” she said with a smile. She suddenly glanced at his friend, a tall, pale man with dark curly hair and almost ethereal blue eyes. He was staring at her as if scrutinizing her; it made her slightly uncomfortable. 

“What do you do, Alice?” John asked politely, interested in getting to know the small, pretty brown-haired girl in front of him. 

“She’s an aspiring clothing designer, recently moved from America to work as an assistant to a designer,” Sherlock said bluntly in a smooth, deep voice as John looked slightly embarrassed. “Designs and makes her own clothes, particularly interested in vintage styles.” 

“What…how do you know all that?” 

“Your clothes are perfectly fitted to your body, not mass produced; the stitching was done with a personal sewing machine, not an industrial-grade one,” he told her, as if this were adequate explanation. “Red lipstick, but not here to attract anyone sexually, as your posture indicates, so you wear it because you like the classic elegance. Simple,” he finished, making Alice feel even more self-conscious. 

“Sorry about him, he does that to everyone,” John apologized. Sherlock looked as if he didn’t understand why this required an apology. Meanwhile, Gwen had seen the way her friend and John were looking at each other and decided that they should be alone. 

“Mr. Holmes, perhaps we should look in the next aisle,” Gwen said, grabbing Sherlock by the arm of his overcoat and leading him over to the next shelf. He looked at her confusedly. 

“Why did you bring me here? The book I need is on the other shelf,” he said seriously, looking at Gwen as if she were insane. 

“I think our friends like each other,” she explained. 

“Obviously, but I do not see why that requires you to tear me away from my task.” 

“Giving them a little alone time?” Gwen prompted, but was just met with a blank look from her companion. “Wow, I could tell you don’t socialize much, but I thought you were smart enough to know when to leave people alone to flirt.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, a combination of confused and suspicious, trying to figure out how this stranger knew that he was intelligent and antisocial. Most of the time, he was a complete mystery to people. Gwen just ignored him, browsing book titles, while Sherlock stood uncomfortably. 

“Aren’t you going to try making small talk?” he asked disdainfully, a bit unsettled that this woman wasn’t fitting in with what he expected of average strangers. 

“No, don’t need to,” Gwen answered casually, still not looking at him. “You’re a detective; you don’t work for the police, but the police come to you for help, they need the help of someone with an uncommonly brilliant mind. That man in the next aisle lives with you and is your closest friend. You maintain a certain level of distance from him, but you care about him more than you let on.” Sherlock looked intrigued as she continued. “You find life dull, sentiment duller, and what you said about Alice is the only thing you know about fashion,” Gwen said, finally glancing toward Sherlock to indicate his white shirt that looked about two sizes too small. “Am I close, Mr. Holmes?”

He didn’t answer, but looked over this woman to see what type of person he was dealing with. She had on blue jeans and a white crocheted top over a white undershirt. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, black-framed glasses covered her hazel eyes, and she was wearing no makeup. She cared about her appearance, but hadn’t put a lot of effort into it, managing to look beautiful without needing to spend an hour in front of the mirror. He glanced around: several men were looking at her admiringly, but she seemed either disinterested or unaware; he couldn’t decide which. 

Her hands said “writer” - she twirled and bent her wrists as if they were stiff and there was a dent on the middle finger of her right hand where a pen would rest. However, her posture implied that she stood on her feet all day – her legs were tired and she wanted to sit down. If she sat at a desk writing all day, she would be happier to stand. Perhaps she just did a lot of writing in her free time? She smelled of engine grease but a mechanic wouldn’t wear a nice white shirt on a work day. Gwen continued to look at books while Sherlock silently deduced what he could from her. 

Meanwhile, John and Alice had been hitting it off. 

“Your friend is very…observant,” Alice said to him. “My friend is like that too, it freaks people out most of the time.” 

“I know exactly what you mean,” John said. 

“So, what is it you do?” Alice asked. She was attracted to John and wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. 

John explained his history as an army doctor and how he came to meet and be flat mates with Sherlock Holmes, sometimes helping the detective with his cases. Alice then confirmed Sherlock’s deduction – she was an aspiring fashion designer who made many of her own clothes, and was working as an assistant for Vivienne Westwood. It was the job opportunity of a lifetime, and Alice was amazed that her amateur design portfolio had caught the eye of someone so prominent in the industry. 

They had stopped talking and were just exchanging a flirtatious smile when Sherlock abruptly came back into the aisle of books, grabbed a book off the top shelf, and began to stride toward the cashier. 

“John,” Sherlock prompted, almost like a petulant child trying to get his mother to leave.

“Go buy the book, I’ll be along in a minute,” John told him, trying to give him a look that he wasn’t ready to leave the pretty girl just yet. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but stepped up to the cash register. 

“I’d better go, he won’t leave me alone until I do,” John explained apologetically. “Would you like to grab coffee with me sometime?” 

“Sure, I’d like that,” Alice smiled. She pulled a card and a pen out of her purse, scribbling something on it and handing it to him. “Here is my contact information. It was great to meet you.” 

“You too,” John said, then went over to join Sherlock. Alice re-joined her friend. 

“He was cute, are you going to see him again?” Gwen asked. 

“I hope so. He has my number now, and asked me to get coffee with him.” 

“That’s great! Look at you, getting a date with a guy in a bookstore.” 

“Did you have a good conversation with his attractive friend?” Alice asked, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Attractive? More like obnoxious and socially crippled,” Gwen scoffed. She frequently scoffed when she was attracted to someone and didn’t want to admit it. “Also, not nearly as intelligent as he thinks he is.” 

“He figured out a lot about me just by looking at me,” Alice admitted.

“Yes, and I figured him out in a matter of seconds – he thinks he’s the only smart person in the world, and that’s annoying.” 

“I guess. Are you ready to go?” Alice asked, holding up a couple of books she had picked out. Gwen nodded and they paid for their books, and left the bookstore, Gwen hopping on her Harley and Alice getting on behind her friend. 

A couple of blocks down the street, Sherlock and John were walking back to their flat and Sherlock observed a Harley motorcycle go by with two passengers, the driver in a white crocheted top. A corner of his mouth turned up smugly. So that explained why she smelled of engine grease.


	2. Measure for Measure

“Alice, dear, I need you get this new model’s measurements and fit him in this suit,” Vivienne walked in with a man while Alice was finished pinning up a hem on a dress form. Alice grabbed her sewing box and turned to look at the new model. He was unusual-looking for a male model, but very attractive. About five feet and eight inches tall, he had black hair, light skin, big, dark brown eyes, and a charming smile. He was wearing jeans and a v-neck t-shirt, and Alice could tell that he had a slim but toned body underneath. In his hand was a gray suit on a hanger in a garment bag. Dame Westwood left the model in her assistant’s capable hands. 

“Hello, I’m Theodore. Theodore Eastman. You can call me Ted if you’d like,” he said with a friendly smile. 

“I’m Alice,” she smiled back, not used to being smiled at by attractive male models. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take off your clothes,” she told him, lifting her measuring tape out of her box. 

Without a word, Ted pulled off his t-shirt and then began to undo his jeans. He had a different sort of body than most other male models she’d dealt with, but certainly not a bad one. Soon, he was standing before her in charcoal-colored boxer briefs. He stepped over to Alice, closer than he probably needed to be, giving her a cheeky smile and running his eyes down her body. She cleared her throat and took a step away. 

“I’m just going to take all your measurements,” she informed him, tossing the measuring tape around her neck and pulling out a notebook and pencil so that she could record the measurements. At the top of the page she scribbled, “Theodore Eastman.” She set down the notebook and grabbed the measuring tape, wrapping it first around his neck to get a collar measurement, jotting the number down in the notebook. Next was his bicep. 

“So, how do you model and do all of this at the same time? Must be a lot of work,” he asked her. 

“What do you mean? I’m not a model,” she replied, confused. 

“Sorry, my mistake. You’re just very beautiful,” he said. She blushed and wrote down his arm measurements, then wrapped the tape around his bare chest, trying not to make eye contact. Male models had said a lot of things to her, but one had never really said anything particularly nice, much less flirted with her. 

“Um…thank you,” she said, still a bit embarrassed. She scribbled down the measurements of his torso and finally wrapped the tape around his hips, and she couldn’t tell if she was imagining it or if he got slightly aroused at her hands being so close to a certain part of his anatomy. She quickly took her hands away and wrote down the measurement, blushing furiously. This model was thoroughly unsettling, although she couldn’t help but be incredibly flattered. She once again had to put her hand near an intimate area as she held the tape against the inside of his thigh, stopping at his foot to measure the inseam. 

Yes, he was definitely getting a bit excited. Wondering if someone could blush to death, Alice jotted down the last of the measurements. 

“Okay, would you mind putting the suit on? I can get the alterations going right away.”

Ted slipped into the suit and Alice immediately began measuring, drawing with fabric chalk, and pinning. 

“I’m sure you must hear this a lot, but your accent is charming,” he told her. 

“Oh, no, never,” Alice giggled, “usually all I hear is ‘damn American’,” she joked, although it she had heard it a couple times since moving to London. 

“Well, I like it,” he told her, giving her a smile that made her feel as if he were imagining doing unspeakable things to her. It should have been creepy, but was more just a combination of flattering and chilling. 

“Well…you’re all done,” she said, ignoring the way he was looking at her. “You can leave the suit on the hanger, I’ll deal with it from there.” A few minutes later, the disconcerting man was out of the suit and back into his jeans and t-shirt. 

“See you later,” he said, and was out the door, and Alice breathed a sigh of relief. She’d definitely have to be on her toes around that strange new model.


	3. A First Date

Alice walked into the coffee shop, a bit self-conscious that she hadn’t been able to change or fix herself up a bit after work. She had agreed to meet John after she was finished with her tasks for the day, and before she had left work she had managed to touch up her lipstick and perfume and smooth out her hair and home-made vintage pink dress. She saw John sitting at a table by a window and stood up to meet her by the door. 

“Hello, you look great,” John said.

“Thank you, so do you,” she responded, admiring his blue plaid shirt and black pants. John put his hand on the middle of her back and led her to the counter, where they both ordered and John paid. Once they had gotten their coffee, they returned to the table by the window to sit and chat. They exchanged tidbits about their days and moved on to their pasts, John talking about his time being a soldier and doctor; Alice told him about her interest in clothes growing up and why she wanted to be a fashion designer. 

“So, how did you and Gwen end up here together?” 

“Well, she and I wanted to move here for a while, and so we started applying for jobs, and everything just sort of clicked at once. I put together a portfolio of my drawings and sewed some outfits together, we got some gorgeous friends to model them and Gwen took pictures – she’s a photographer, one of her many jobs – and I sent the whole thing to Vivienne Westwood, and the rest is history. I got the job as Dame Westwood’s assistant and Gwen was promised to be hired as an occasional photographer for magazines and runway shows, and so we packed up and moved here.” 

“I’m glad everything worked out,” he told her with a sincere smile. 

“Thank you,” she smiled back. “Gwen has been my best friend for years. I always say she’s ‘married to her work’,” she laughed, and John got an interesting look on his face. “She hardly ever dates and it takes a very special man for her to even be interested. She’s absolutely brilliant, but avoids people a lot of the time.” 

“She sounds exactly like Sherlock,” John said, shaking his head in disbelief that there could be a female that might be his flat mate’s perfect match. 

They continued to flirt and get to know each other some more. After it had been dark for a while, John offered to see Alice home. They got out of a cab in front of her flat and John gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek with the promise of another date soon.


	4. Borrowing and Lending

“Look at her like you love her,” Gwen said, pointing her camera at the couple for whom she was taking engagement photos. They were sitting on the edge of a fountain, water spraying behind them. “I said like you love her, not like you just walked into a surprise birthday party,” she said bluntly, making the couple’s loving smiles drop. “That’s slightly better,” she shrugged, snapping a few pictures. “Now put your arms around her waist. Higher. Not that high, your families are going to see these,” she rolled her eyes.

Sherlock saw her while he was walking. Photographer, of course, how had he not thought of it before? He sidled up next to her. “I need to borrow your phone,” he said. 

Gwen turned, recognizing the voice from the bookstore, and gave the detective an incredulous look. 

“Excuse me? I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” she responded, ignoring him and turning back to snap a couple of pictures. 

“So am I. Give me your phone,” he insisted. 

“Face the fountain and hold hands. Look over your shoulders,” Gwen instructed the couple, pushing the shutter button on her camera several times. “Why do you want my phone?” she asked Sherlock without looking at him as she snapped some more pictures. 

“I need to send a text and I don’t want my number recognized,” he informed her. 

“You’re not going to leave until I give you my phone, I suppose.” Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and tossed it in his general direction, trusting him to catch it, which he did. He typed on it for a few moments, then handed it back to her. 

“Good day,” he said, walking away. 

“You’re welcome,” she replied sarcastically, although she wasn’t sure if he heard it.


	5. An Unusual Finding

A couple days later, Alice had a horrible day at work. It was just a few days before a big runway show, and she was constantly yelled at to hurry, being scolded for accidentally poking a model with a pin, or told to re-fix a hem twenty times in a row. By the end of the day, she was exhausted. She was just about to put her sewing kit away when she overheard some voices in a room with the door ajar. 

“You need to lose a couple pounds if you want to fit into the Moon Diamonds dress,” the voice said. 

“I have been dieting like crazy, but I’ve just been staying the same weight,” a different voice said, cracking a little. Alice guessed that she was crying. 

“Well, you still eat too much. If you don’t lose 5 pounds by Saturday, you’re just going to have to let someone else wear that dress,” the voice said, not harshly, but not kindly either. The door swung open and out came Ming Yoo, a beautiful model with tears running down her face. Alice continued down the hall to store away her kit, trying to act like she hadn’t heard anything. She felt bad for Ming – she had been dying to wear the Moon Diamonds dress, and it looked amazing on her. 

She left work and found John waiting for her – they were going to take a walk around London and perhaps get some dinner later. He greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and she laced her arm through his. 

“Would you mind if we stopped by my flat? It isn’t far; I forgot my phone,” he explained. 

“Of course, I don’t mind at all,” Alice said graciously, taking John’s arm. He smiled and they went to Baker Street and arrived at the small, quaint flat and went up. 

“I’ll only be a moment,” John apologized as he disappeared into a room. 

“Could I have a glass of water?” Alice called to him. She was pretty thirsty from working so hard all day. 

“Of course, feel free to help yourself,” John called back. Alice went into the kitchen and looked around. When she opened the fridge, she gasped to find a severed hand inside of it. She closed the door and her throat suddenly felt dry. Her heart beat heavily and she reached into her purse, pulling out her pepper spray. She heard John approach and held her hand behind her back, turning abruptly. 

“Ready to go?” he asked. She tried to say something but her scratchy throat wouldn’t let her. “Are you okay?” John asked, looking concerned. He noticed that she seemed a bit pale. 

Suddenly, she held the small spray bottle in front of her, pointing it at John and finding her voice again. 

“Don’t come near me,” she said, her voice scratchy. John held up his hands in surrender, looking a bit confused. 

“I’m sorry…did I do something wrong?” he asked. 

“Why did you bring me here? To kill me?” she demanded, tears forming in her eyes from fear.

“What? No! I don’t understand…oh, God. You looked in the fridge, didn’t you?” he asked understandingly. 

“Why do you have a dismembered hand in there?” she shouted, almost hysterical now. 

“It’s mine,” a deep voice said as its owner, Sherlock, entered the kitchen suddenly. Alice directed her pepper spray at the taller man and he rolled his eyes. 

“It’s an experiment,” he explained. “I know someone who works in a morgue; that’s where I get the body parts.” 

Alice looked at him a bit suspiciously, but decided she believed him, and lowered her hand slowly, putting her pepper spray back inside of her purse. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she said to John, “It’s just…an unusual thing to find in the kitchen of the man you’re dating,” she explained. Sherlock looked as if he didn’t understand, but John grinned with sympathy. 

“No, I would have done the same thing,” he replied, and they left to continue on their date. 

They walked around and John pointed out certain places. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers while they explored London, flirted, and enjoyed each other’s company. When they got hungry, John took her to a delicious Italian restaurant for dinner. Alice liked him a lot – he wasn’t like any other guy she’d ever dated. He was kind, intelligent, manly, and funny. He was genuinely interested in her and her life, and he was open to sharing his own experiences with her as well. 

When they were done eating, John saw her back to her flat and walked her to her door. 

“I had a wonderful time,” Alice told him, then hesitated a moment before adding, “I really like spending time with you.” 

“I like it too,” John said, shifting his feet nervously. He paused to look at Alice for a moment, gauging her potential reaction, and took a step toward her. When she didn’t back away, he put his hand on the back of her neck and leaned his head down to press his lips to hers gently, almost cautiously. She put a hand on his shoulder, kissing him back with equal hesitation. It had been a while since she had done any kissing, and thought she might be a bit rusty. However, he didn’t seem to have any criticisms of her technique as he moved his lips against hers. Finally, he broke the kiss with a smile. 

“Can I call you tomorrow?” 

“Of course,” she told him over her shoulder as she unlocked her door and smiled at him before closing it.


	6. The First Murder

It was past midnight and Alice was exhausted, having had just finished every last stitch in the dresses for the show the following day. She was the last one left in the building and was just turning off lights and locking doors when she saw a door ajar with a light on – someone must have forgotten to turn it off. She pushed the door open to flip the switch, then screamed, although no one was there to hear it. What she saw was Ming Yoo, dead on the floor, with her stomach cut out. There was blood everywhere. Alice had never been able to handle blood very well, so she looked away and pulled out her phone, managing to call the police with her trembling hands to tell them about the murder. When she hung up the phone, she glanced again at the bloody mess of Ming’s remains, her stomach churning in disgust and her head getting dizzy as she collapsed on the floor, unconscious. 

A while later, Alice opened her eyes slowly and found herself looking into the handsome face of an older man with gray hair and brown eyes. She turned to look around and saw that she had been taken into the room with the corpse, and was reclined on the couch, someone having put a blanket over her. The crime scene was slightly cleaned up but still gory, and there were a few police officers gathered around with gloves and plastic bags.

“Easy now,” the kind-looking man said as he helped her sit up. “Miss, I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade. I’m afraid I have a few questions for you.” 

“Okay,” Alice nodded weakly. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

“I was just turning off lights and locking up. I thought I was alone in the building. I noticed the light on and went to turn it off and I found her like that,” Alice shook, tearing up at the memory. It was the most horrifying thing she’d seen in her life. 

“What had you been doing before that?” Lestrade asked kindly. 

“I was working late, hemming some garments for a runway show tomorrow. I finished the last dress and packed up my sewing kit, then went around to lock up.” 

“Can you tell me anything about the victim?”

“Ming Yoo. She was a model – one of the best. She had been intended to wear the highlight gown of the collection, the Moon Diamonds dress, but she outgrew it. She had gained a few pounds since the original fitting.” 

“Do you know of anyone who might have been upset with her?” Lestrade asked, considering this information. 

“Not really,” Alice said, “although on Wednesday I overheard an unpleasant conversation she had with someone, I believe her agent. She told Ming that if she didn’t lose a few pounds, she wouldn’t be able to wear the dress in the show. Ming adored that dress, it was designed for her. Her agent told her that she ate too much, although every time I saw Ming, she was hardly eating anything.” 

“Interesting,” Lestrade said, mulling this over. “Chastised for her weight and then her stomach gets cut out…thank you, miss. You can rest more now, if you’d like.” Alice nodded, lying down again and closing her eyes – seeing the crime scene was making her feel dizzy again. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and tried to sit up, although she was still a bit shaky and light-headed. Suddenly, Sherlock Holmes walked in, John trailing behind him. 

“What’s the freak doing here?” an unpleasant-looking deep-skinned police woman asked, rolling her eyes. 

“Donovan,” Lestrade warned and Sherlock seemed completely unbothered by her name-calling. John immediately sat down on the couch next to Alice, putting his arm around her comfortingly. She closed her eyes and put her face into his chest. He held her close and rubbed her arm with his hands. 

“It’s so horrible,” she said, her voice cracking as she began to cry again, trembling. 

“I know,” John said gently, placing a kiss into her hair. “Do you need anything? Cup of tea?” Alice nodded, her face still against his chest. “I’ll get you one,” John promised, leaving her side after making sure she was comfortably reclined on the couch again.

Lestrade told Sherlock what he had found out from Alice and any information that had already been discovered. Sherlock examined the body closely, putting on gloves and occasionally touching the corpse to examine it more closely. After he was finished, he stood up, peeling off gloves. 

“She was unhappy. Dried tears around her eyes, and premature frown lines. Her throat is red and raw from frequent vomiting, she had an eating disorder. Someone made her self-conscious about her weight. More than that – someone wanted her, and maybe even others, to know why she was being punished. So, her stomach was cut out,” Sherlock explained to all the morons that were standing around. 

“Look, someone cut off her sleeves at the seam. It’s a clean cut, it must have been done with scissors,” a snide nasal voice said as if it thought it was genius. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alice said frustratedly, her eyes still closed on the couch. She just wanted this whole investigation to be over. At the silence that met her comment, she sat up on the couch and looked at everyone, seeing the owner of the voice, a gaunt-faced, terrifying man. 

“What do you mean?” Lestrade asked curiously, and even Sherlock had his brow furrowed. Alice walked over to the body, trying not to focus on the bloody mess, and examined the green dress at the seam where a sleeve would have been attached. 

“In order to cut something off at the seam and get that clean of a cut, you would have to use a seam-ripper. It basically rips out the threads that hold the ends of the fabric together. It would have taken a long time. This person must have known something about sewing,” Alice concluded before having to return to the couch and avoid looking at the corpse. Sherlock looked like he was trying to consider this information, then suddenly sighed in frustration. 

“Anderson, turn around. Your face is disturbing.” The gaunt man looked to Lestrade, who motioned for him to do what Sherlock said. 

At this point, John returned with a paper cup with a plastic lid. He brought it to Alice, explaining that he had gotten the tea from a café across the street. She sipped it slowly while John rubbed her back with his hand. It was the longest night of Alice’s life.


	7. A Sympathetic Employer

Saturday morning was a buzz of Lestrade questioning models and Dame Westwood. The corpse was finally cleaned up, and reporters arrived, trying to get the story on the murdered model. When Westwood made a statement about the fashion show still happening, Alice began to rush around trying to get it to go smoothly. The police, Sherlock, and John were still there examining the room in which Ming’s body was found, and Alice was overworking herself after a night of trauma. 

“Alice, I need you to do something for me,” Dame Westwood approached her, and Alice eagerly asked her what needed to be done. “Go home and get some rest,” she was told. 

“But what about the fashion show?” Alice asked.

“I can take care of it, there are other people that can help. You’ve had a long and traumatizing night,” Westwood told her. “I will see you on Monday,” she finished, as if it were an order. 

John had heard some of this and offered to see Alice home since he wasn’t really being of much use in the investigation. In the cab, he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, and when they got to her flat, Alice politely offered John something to drink. 

“No, you need to rest. Doctor’s orders,” John insisted. Alice nodded and went to change into her pajamas. She came out in black pajama pants and a gray tank top, and John was surprised at how sexy he found it. Before he could say anything, she put her hand on the back of his head and kissed him eagerly. John slipped his hands around her waist and held her close, returning the kiss passionately. When she broke it, John grinned, although he looked a bit surprised. 

“Not that I mind, exactly, but…what was that for?” he asked. 

“For being so sweet to me,” she told him. 

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he told her. “Now get some rest.” He walked with her into her bedroom and tucked the covers over her. He turned to leave the room. 

“John, would you mind staying?” she asked. He smiled at her and reclined on the bed, on top of the covers, and took her hand. 

“Of course not,” he said gently. Soon they were both comfortably asleep.


	8. An Intrusion and More Deductions

Gwen finally arrived home after work and turned on the TV. Alice hadn’t been home all night – she wondered if she should try calling her. While she was thinking this over, she noticed what was on the news – a murdered model had been found where Alice worked. She pulled out her phone and frantically dialed her flat mate’s number. She heard the ring, not just through the phone, but in the room. She saw Alice’s purse on the counter with the phone obviously inside. 

She ran and burst into Alice’s bedroom to find her flat mate and John on the bed. They were awakened by Alice’s door hitting the wall behind it as Gwen threw it open. 

“Oh, uh…hi, John…sorry, I…” Gwen felt slightly embarrassed at walking in on her friend with a man in her bedroom. However, they hadn’t been doing anything besides sleeping. “Alice, I saw what happened on the news, and you hadn’t been home all night, so I was worried…” 

“I’m sorry, I should have called,” Alice apologized. She invited Gwen to come in and Gwen sat on the other side of the bed while Alice explained everything. 

“That sounds…interesting!” Gwen’s eyes lit up. She had a fascination, almost an obsession, with murder stories. Alice just gave her a look. When this exchange was finished, Gwen left her friend and John to sleep some more – they’d both had a long and horrible night. 

Gwen went back to the TV and was watching her favorite show, Top Gear, when she heard a knock on the door. When she opened it, she could not have been more surprised to see Sherlock Holmes. Without waiting for an invitation, he pushed his way past her and into the flat. 

“Please, come in, make yourself at home,” Gwen said sarcastically. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto a chair. “How exactly did you know where I live?” 

“I didn’t come here because this is where you live, I traced John’s phone and this is where it said he was,” Sherlock explained as if this should have been obvious to her. “Where is he?” 

“He’s in Alice’s bedroom,” Gwen pointed at the appropriate door, and when Sherlock began to stride toward it, Gwen followed him. 

“You can’t just walk into her bedroom,” she told him, but was ignored. Sherlock threw the door open in a similar manner to how Gwen had earlier. 

“Gwen, I’m trying to sleep, you’re going to put a hole in my wall with the door,” Alice mumbled, her eyes still closed as she shifted in the bed. 

“John, I need to borrow your phone,” Sherlock said frankly, causing both John and Alice to pop awake at the unexpected sound of his voice. Gwen threw up her hands, giving up, and went back to the living room to watch her show.

“Sherlock, are you serious?” John asked in disbelief. 

“Yes,” was the impatient answer, “your phone, now.” John sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tossing it to his flat mate. Sherlock clicked around on it briefly and then tossed it back to him. Then he turned to leave the room without a word. John and Alice just looked at each other, then settled back onto the bed and fell back asleep. 

When Sherlock had left Alice’s bedroom, he flopped onto the couch next to Gwen and stared into space, his long, sinewy hands palm-to-palm under his chin. 

“Can I help you?” Gwen asked, a bit annoyed at how entitled he was being. Sherlock didn’t answer her, didn’t even move. “Hey. Hello…excuse me!” she said, trying to get his attention. 

“Quiet. I’m thinking,” he said, still not really acknowledging that she was there. Gwen thought about retorting, but knew it would be useless. She just sat and tried to focus on her show, but to be honest, Sherlock was infuriatingly distracting in his overly tight black shirt. She hated to admit it, but he was not at all unpleasant to look at – although any attractiveness he had was completely cancelled out by his rudeness. After a long silence from the consulting detective, Gwen heard him muttering to himself. 

“The sleeves; why would someone take the time to remove her sleeves, especially with a seam-ripper, it would have taken a lot of time,” he mumbled. 

“What are you talking about?” Gwen demanded, giving up on being able to focus on her show for the moment and clicking off the TV. “The murder?”

“Of course the murder, what else would I be talking about?” he snapped. 

“Maybe it was a crazed fan – someone obsessed with her who decided they wanted to help her lose the weight she was so insecure about. Maybe they wanted a piece of her to take with them?” Sherlock considered this for a moment, but didn’t say anything conclusively either way. 

“You’re intelligent,” he finally said, still not looking at her. 

“Clearly,” Gwen replied. “Your point?” 

“How did you know all of that about me?” he asked. 

“When we first met?” he nodded in confirmation. “You drew accurate conclusions on my friend based on her appearance, meaning that you are highly skilled in the art of deduction. Therefore, detective. You didn’t have a uniform on or a gun with you, so not working for the police, but always taking things in and observing, the police aren’t smart enough to do that when there's no need to, so they come to you for help. You didn’t know better than to say your conclusions about Alice out loud to her face, meaning that your social skills have suffered at the hands of your extreme intelligence. It was easy.” 

“How did you know about John?” he had to ask. 

“Even easier. You were trying hard not to seem attached to him because you consider sentiment a weakness, but your right foot was leading toward him at all times as if to protect him from danger should the occasion arise. But no romantic feelings between you two – he was clearly flirting with my friend and you were bored rather than jealous.” 

“Most people don’t figure me out so easily,” he said begrudgingly, almost pouting.

“As you may have concluded by now, Mr. Holmes, I am not most people. I am rather curious what you might know about me, however. You are supposed to be the best, are you not?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the challenge – he couldn’t stand someone questioning his skill, just like he couldn’t stand someone being amazed at it. 

“You’re a photographer, but you aren’t passionate about it – it’s a hobby more than a long-term career choice. You are also easily bored – you have knowledge and skill in several areas, not just a few, like most people. You are doing it as a job because that allowed you to move here with your friend, of whom you are dotingly protective. You smell of engine grease: you ride a motorcycle and were watching Top Gear. You love things with an engine. Not a mechanic currently, but have the knowledge to be one. You’re a writer – a combination of frequent typing and hand-writing, you like the feel of a pen. You, unlike Alice, do not grow faint at the thought of a brutal murder, but light up while discussing one – you have an interest in crimes, specifically murders, you have some knowledge of the criminal mind. In school you studied…forensics?”

“Forensic pathology.”

“Of course, forensic pathology,” he looked thoughtful at this, but said no more. After a few moments, he stood up, grabbed his coat and scarf, and went out the door without a word.


	9. An Interruption

John awoke and looked at his watch. It was around dinner time and he was pretty hungry – he figured Alice must be too. He slowly raised himself off of the bed so he wouldn’t wake her and left the room silently. Doing a quick search on his phone, he found a nearby Chinese restaurant that delivered and ordered them some food, asking Gwen what Alice liked. He offered to order some for Gwen too, but she said she was going out. Secretly, she just didn’t want to be a third wheel. 

The food arrived quickly and at the knock on the door, Alice awoke. She emerged from her room to find John paying the delivery guy and setting the food down on the counter. 

“You ordered food?” she asked with a smile. 

“I thought you might be hungry,” he explained, taking cardboard containers out of the bags. Alice came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his torso, her cheek pressed against his back. 

“You’re amazing,” she told him. “It smells great.” John turned around when she loosened her grip around his stomach and gave her a quick kiss. They sat on the couch eating out of the containers and had found a zany cop comedy on TV that neither of them paid attention to. 

“I couldn’t help but notice that Gwen got a bit excited when we were talking about the murder,” John said.

“Oh, yeah, she loves that kind of thing,” Alice confirmed. “She studied forensic pathology at school, she finds all of that exciting.” 

“Amazing. Sherlock is just like that,” John shook his head incredulously.

“Yeah, it sounds like they’d be perfect for each other.” 

They finished eating and Alice stored the leftovers in the fridge and re-joined John on the couch. They cuddled for a few minutes, trying to focus on the screwball comedy in front of them, but neither one of them was into it. 

“Want to make out?” Alice finally asked, detecting that the movie was boring them both. 

“God, yes,” he said, relieved, then put a hand behind her neck and began kissing her. The kiss escalated in passion rather quickly, Alice sliding her hands up John’s chest. Her lips parted to admit his tongue, and Alice exhaled as the breath was knocked out of her from the kiss. John moved his hands to slide up her sides, gently pushing her back on the couch until he was on top of her. Alice had gotten his gray jumper off of him and slid her hands under the collar of his button-up shirt, feeling the warm skin of his neck. Soon, John’s mouth was placing soft kisses down her throat. Just as Alice started to undo the top button of his shirt, they heard a key moving in the door. 

John scrambled off of Alice and they both sat up on opposite sides of the couch, flustered and embarrassed. Gwen came in without a word, threw her stuff on a chair next to the door, and cluelessly plopped down in between the couple. John grabbed the throw pillow next to him on the couch and held it on his lap, trying to hide his body’s reaction to what had just happened. Alice turned bright red, but soon saw that Gwen had absolutely no idea what she had just walked in on. Usually Gwen was a bit more aware of her wingwoman skills, but Alice could tell that she was in her ‘brain sanctuary’ and therefore dead to the world. 

“Where have you been?” Alice asked carefully, knowing that her friend should be approached with caution in this state.

“The library,” she responded to Alice, although distantly, as if she weren’t really saying it directly to her. “Doing some research.”

“You’re thinking about the murder, aren’t you?” 

“Obviously.” 

“Incredible,” John said absently, looking at Gwen with fascination. “It’s like looking at Sherlock if he were a woman.” Alice hadn’t spent much time with the tall, mysterious consulting detective, but she had to agree – they did seem pretty similar.


	10. A Date is Denied

By Monday, things were seemingly more normal than they had been. For the first couple of days, Alice was kept busy trying to get everything to run smoothly again after such a dramatic experience. There was still the occasional reporter trying to get an interview, but overall, Dame Westwood managed to keep everybody out who didn’t belong. 

By Wednesday, things were beginning to run more smoothly, and on Thursday Alice thought that she might be able to get through the weekend without incident, which would be nice. 

“I need you to fit Theodore to his new tux and get Will ready in his outfits for the photoshoot tomorrow,” Westwood directed her. Alice scribbled down these tasks and sent someone to bring in Ted. 

“Hi again,” Ted said with a smile and a glance at her body when he came in, wearing the tux that needed to be altered. 

“Hello, I just need to get your tux fitted, it’ll just be a bunch of pinning,” Alice said. She began to pin the fabric around his body while he silently watched her. 

“That whole thing with Ming is crazy,” he said casually. 

“Tell me about it,” Alice agreed, then changed the subject: “How was the runway show?” 

“Oh, it was great, just great. It would have been better with you there.” 

Alice didn’t have a reply to that, blushing at the way he was looking at her. She quickly finished the rest of the job in silence. 

“All done, you can leave it on that hanger over there,” Alice told him, turning away. When he had put the tux on the hanger and was standing in his boxer briefs, Ted approached Alice and stood very close to her, looking amused at how uncomfortable she looked. 

“Would you like to meet me for coffee sometime?” he asked confidently. 

“Oh…that’s…flattering, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. Thanks, though,” Alice rejected him as politely as she could. He looked at her for a moment, then took a step back. 

“Oh, sorry,” he laughed, “no worries. Laters,” he finished as he left. 

Alice sent an intern to get Will so that she could work on his outfits for the photo shoot. A couple minutes later, she heard a piercing, horrified scream.


	11. The Second Murder

Gwen was sitting in a coffee shop, writing happily on her laptop, when her phone bleeped, indicating a new text message. 

Westwood Studios, come at once – SH

She didn’t need to be told who SH was. Only Sherlock Holmes could have sent such an obnoxiously entitled text with no warning. He obviously had gotten her number when he borrowed her phone, and now he expected her to just drop everything and rush to meet him. However, she closed her laptop and stowed it in her bag. She was curious, so very curious, and furthermore, she was worried about Alice, since a detective was asking her to come to her friend’s workplace. She caught a cab and arrived before long. 

She entered the building and couldn’t get past security, but Sherlock soon came and got her, bringing her to a dressing room that was sectioned off with yellow caution tape. She stepped under the tape and was immediately met with looks of disdain from Donovan and Anderson.

“What, has the freak gotten himself a girlfriend?” the nasty-looking woman asked in a tone that Gwen found completely offensive. 

“He’s a freak, is he? Yet he’s not the one having an affair with a man who looks like he lives under the beds of small children,” Gwen responded, gesturing toward the gaunt, terrifying Anderson. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Donovan denied, acting a bit flustered while Anderson blushed. 

“Of course. I’m sure it’s a coincidence that you two wear the same deodorant and both look like you got no sleep last night.” Gwen glanced over the other woman and gave her and Anderson a knowing look. “What I can’t quite figure out is why you would wear your male colleague’s shirt to work,” she said smugly before walking away. Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in a proud smirk. 

Gwen finally looked at the disturbing vision before her. 

“Woah,” she reacted, fascinated by the sight. On the floor there was a nasty mess of blood, muscle, and bones. What was slightly more interesting to her, however, was hung up: a large piece of leather that covered a significant portion of the wall. 

“Human skin leather,” she concluded. “This man has been skin, and his skin has been tanned like an animal hide.” 

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed, and they stood side-by-side with twin expressions of thoughtfulness on their faces. 

“Well, that’s bloody unsettling,” Lestrade said to himself when he noticed how similar the pair looked. "The skin's disturbing too." He continued his task of investigating. Suddenly, he discovered something interesting. “Sherlock, come listen to this.” 

He held the victim’s cell phone out to Sherlock, who pressed a button for speaker and played the last voice message:

“Will, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. Anyway, you have an appointment at the tanning salon, and I want you to actually go to it this time. I don’t know why you’re so paranoid about skin cancer, but you need to get a tan before your photo shoot tomorrow, you’re pale as can be. Call me back. Bye.” 

“Who is it?” Gwen asked. 

“I assume his agent,” Lestrade said.

“What do we know about the victim?” 

“Will Harper, 24, been a Westwood model for 3 years,” the DI continued to describe what he know, Sherlock and Gwen both listening intently. When he was finished, there was a moment of silence before Sherlock spoke. 

“We need a spy; someone who can be a part of the industry and keep an eye on things.” 

“Alice,” Gwen said. 

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. With that, they went to find Alice and ask her to help with the investigation of what was obviously a serial killer. When she had agreed to keep her eyes out for anything unusual, Sherlock and Gwen went to a nearby coffee shop to research and think.


	12. An Unexpected Kiss

“What do we know about these two murders so far? They have several things in common,” Gwen started, opening her laptop while Sherlock scooted his chair close to look over her shoulder. 

“Both victims were models for Westwood Studios. They were both told they needed to change something about their appearances by their agents, and the murders were, shall we say, ‘aptly appearance-altering’,” Sherlock said darkly. “However, they don’t have the same agent, if they did, that person would be a prime suspect, but they aren’t. All the same, we should get in touch with those agents immediately.” 

During this time, Gwen had gotten a bit distracted by a man who was leering at her in a way that made her highly uncomfortable. She tried to ignore him, but the more she tried to focus on her computer screen while she searched for helpful information, the more she could feel his eyes on her. 

“Look up the contact information for the two agents, Lattimer Ghent and Delilah Parker—”

Sherlock was cut off in the form of Gwen grabbing him by the back of the head and pressing her lips to his. The consulting detective stiffened at the touch, more surprised than anything else, but didn’t move away. After a moment, in spite of himself, he reacted intuitively and began to experimentally move his lips against hers, although his hands remained where they were, resting on his knees. When Gwen broke the kiss, she turned back to her computer to do the searches, but she could feel Sherlock’s eyes scrutinizing her curiously.

“I am flattered by your attention—” he began awkwardly, trying to reject her politely. 

“Don’t be,” Gwen interrupted. “I just didn’t like the way that man over there was looking at me, and I didn’t want him to stare at me any longer, or worse, attempt to speak to me.” 

“I don’t understand,” Sherlock said, quite seriously.

“I was pretending that you were my boyfriend so that he would leave me alone,” she explained, and not another word was said about the kiss right then. “Lattimer Ghent and Delilah Parker work for the same company. I have the address. Shall we?” 

They both rose from their chairs, Gwen packing up her computer, and got ready to conduct some interviews.


	13. The Third Murder

“Did you find out anything helpful when you talked to the agents?” Alice asked as Sherlock and Gwen both came in, sitting on either side of the couch, both with identical pensive expressions on their faces. Neither one of them answered. “Guys, can you stop that? You’re kind of freaking me out.” 

Suddenly, Sherlock snapped out of his reverie and turned to Alice. 

“Turn that up,” he instructed, and she hit the volume control on the remote as they listened to the reporter:

“Another murder has taken place at Vivienne Westwood Studios. Twenty-nine-year-old runway model Anna Bea Brewster was found dead in her dressing room this evening. Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard says that the body was found with acid burns all over her skin.” 

They didn’t listen any more, since all three of them had stood up, preparing to head over to Westwood Studios. 

“You’re not coming,” Sherlock told Alice. 

“I thought you wanted my help,” she said. 

“Alice, you know you don’t do well with dead bodies,” Gwen reminded her. 

“I’m coming!” she insisted. “What if you need me?” 

“Fine,” Sherlock said, and the trio hopped in a cab.


	14. An Idiot is Quieted

When they arrived, Alice first noticed that the skirt of the model’s dress had been removed. The model was lying on the ground, the bodice of a light blue dress on her torso, the bottom half just in panties. Every inch of her exposed skin was covered in red, bubbly burns. She had to look away as her stomach churned. 

John, who was there to examine the body medically, immediately went over to give Alice a comforting hug and a kiss on the forehead. 

Anderson and Donovan rolled their eyes when they saw Sherlock and Gwen at the scene. 

“She was burned with acetic acid,” Anderson said as if he were brilliant, “a primary ingredient in vinegar. She must be allergic.” 

“Can somebody get this idiot to shut up? He’s making the entire scientific community cry,” Gwen said. Sherlock beamed at her.

“Alice, tell me a bit about Anna Bea Brewster,” Gwen demanded. 

“She was in a lot of magazine advertisements for Vogue. Many of her photographs were black-and-white because of her classic beauty,” the fashion assistant explained. “I know that she had been asked to get a chemical treatment on her skin recently, because she was starting to get a few wrinkles.”

“Acetic acid is a common ingredient used in the stop bath process of black-and-white photographic film development. In its concentrated form, it causes severe skin burns,” Gwen said. Sherlock looked positively beside himself with pride that he had found this remarkably intelligent gem. 

The scene was investigated for several hours before everybody left, Sherlock, Gwen, Alice, and John going to 221B Baker Street to continue trying to solve the mystery of this serial killer.


	15. An Ungentlemanly Request

“Nice flat,” Gwen reacted when she got inside. She immediately flopped down on the couch, deep in thought, Sherlock doing the same. Alice chose a chair elsewhere in the room. John went to the kitchen to see if there was anything to offer the guests, unable to keep from shouting an expletive when he opened a cupboard. He came back into the room.

“Sherlock, is it too much to ask that you warn me when you’re keeping a bloody pair of legs in the cupboard?” 

“It’s an experiment,” was the reply that John had come to expect. 

“Where did you get legs?” Gwen asked, interested.

“I know someone who works in a morgue.”

“Do you think you could get me some?” 

“NO,” Alice scolded, “I will NOT wake up every morning to find some kind of gory disgusting body part in the kitchen. You can share Sherlock’s.” 

“Share? Don’t be absurd,” Sherlock started, but was cut off while Alice pointed a warning finger at him as if she were his mother and he a small child. Gwen and Sherlock both folded their arms over their chests, sulking.

“So, you didn’t notice anything odd happening at Westwood Studios the past week?” John asked Alice. 

“No, not a thing. I’m not sure I’m really the best person to spy on things, the victims are all models and the models never talk to me. Most just ignore me, really,” she responded. “We might be better off getting someone to pretend to be a model.”

“Who do we know that has a good enough body to do that?” Gwen asked, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously when she found Alice and Sherlock both staring at her. “What?” 

“Stand up and remove your clothes,” Sherlock instructed as if this were an appropriate request.

“I beg your pardon?!” Gwen demanded. 

“We need to check your measurements.” 

“You think I could go undercover as a model? That’s completely ridiculous, and no, I am not going to take off my clothes right here!” 

“I can take her measurements later,” Alice offered, but Sherlock just rolled his eyes impatiently.

“I can take her measurements now.” 

“Do you have a tape measure?” Alice asked. 

“No, I don’t need that, she just needs to take off her clothes.” 

“Nope…can’t do it. I’m going out, if anyone needs me,” John said, giving up on this conversation that was making him uncomfortable. 

“I’m coming with you,” Alice agreed, and soon they were both gone. Sherlock looked at Gwen expectantly while she self-consciously crossed her hands in front of her body. She just stood there. 

“You have nothing to be ashamed about, I assure you,” Sherlock insisted. Gwen tried to ignore the fact that he had just complimented her body, knowing that he was the least likely person to admire her body in a sexual manner. Finally, she stripped off everything, and within a matter of seconds, Sherlock had accurately recited her measurements. 

“You can get dressed now,” he said, flopping back onto the couch.


	16. Party Preparations

“Are you sure about this? Did Dame Westwood really say I could do this?” Gwen asked a week later, looking at herself in the mirror. Her red hair was styled and curled around her shoulders, and Alice had done her makeup to perfection. Gwen wasn’t used to seeing herself so dolled up, and she felt out of her comfort zone. 

“Yes! And you look gorgeous,” Alice insisted, shooing her friend out of the chair and telling her to change. “Your turn,” she said, turning to Sherlock.

“What do you mean?” 

“No respectable super model would go to a charity gala without arm candy.” Sherlock looked confused, as if he didn’t understand the expression. “She needs a handsome date to the party. Besides, the two of you work well together, and it’s better to have two sets of eyes to observe if anything seems off.” Sherlock glared at her a bit, but sat down in front of her. It didn’t take much to turn him into arm candy – he was already very handsome. She just put a bit of product in his hair to make his curls look perfectly mussed and touched up his shave. “Go put this on,” she ordered, handing him a garment bag. 

A few minutes later, Sherlock came out in a stylish Vivienne Westwood tuxedo and Alice brushed off the shoulders of it to make sure that the expensive fabric was laying smoothly on his back. 

“Are you sure I look okay?” Gwen called out. 

“Yes! Now get out here.” 

Gwen stepped out from behind a door, the silky emerald fabric of the gown she had been given hugging her curves perfectly. 

“Mr. Holmes, I present ‘Deidre van Buren’, the supermodel you will be escorting tonight.” 

“What is my identity to be?” 

“Just call yourself ‘Brad’ or something. Nobody will pay any attention to you, she’s the one that is there to get all the attention, you’re there to stand next to her and look pretty,” Alice told him. Sherlock didn’t really have a response to that. 

“Remember,” Alice instructed Gwen, “stand tall. You’re rich, young, and beautiful, and everyone is there to impress you.” 

With those last words of advice, Sherlock and Gwen left to join the party. All that was left to do was wait and see what happened at the party, and since Alice couldn’t do anything more for the moment, she changed and left to meet John at a nice restaurant for dinner. When she walked up to the table he was sitting at, the only way he could react to her sweetheart-neckline red dress was,

“HOLY Mary…”


	17. The Fourth Murder

Gwen felt incredibly out of place. Everyone was staring at her, and she couldn’t decide if it was with admiration or disdain. When Alice had said that no one would pay attention to Sherlock, it wasn’t true – many people were looking at him, women often giving him flirtatious glances which he did not return. Sensing her discomfort, which matched his own, Sherlock addressed the situation. 

“Is something wrong?”

“I just feel very out of my element right now.”

“Why?”

“Because, look around. There are all these ridiculously gorgeous women sashaying around and then there’s me,” Gwen blushed.

“I see no difference. Your facial structure and the proportions of your body match what is considered aesthetically pleasing by most males and the fashion and beauty industries,” he said frankly. Gwen blushed even more at this, not having expected the compliment – or as close to a compliment as Sherlock could be expected to bestow. 

“Deidre, what do you think of all these murders?” a reporter came up to them, asking frantically. 

“Uh, well, it was a bit nerve-wracking signing on to model for Westwood with the mystery unsolved, but I have always loved Westwood’s designs, and couldn’t bear to turn her down,” Gwen said in a dramatic voice, a bit nervous about her performance. However, the reporter seemed to eat it up. It was lucky that Gwen had done some acting when she was in school, one of her many hobbies when she felt like it. Sherlock just gave the cameras a rather fake smile and a wave. When they were left alone by the reporters, they were approached by another model, Mailyn Ty, who often went by Mai Ty. She had some beefcake on her arm.

“Hello, I’ve not had a chance to meet you yet. I’m Mai, this is Mark.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m…Deidre,” she managed to stick to her fake name. 

“And who is this delicious creature with you?” Mai asked. 

“Oh, this is Brad. Isn’t he just a doll?” Gwen gushed. Sherlock tried to smile, but it just looked kind of awkward. 

“Well, I’ll see you around at the studio,” Mai said, dragging Mark away with her. 

“I have to go do something, I’ll be right back,” Sherlock suddenly said, dropping Gwen’s arm. 

“No, don’t leave me,” Gwen tried to say, but he was already wandering away to who knows where. To avoid standing around looking uncomfortable, she made her way to the bar to grab some champagne. 

“Hi. I’m Theodore,” she heard someone say. She turned and saw an attractive man with brown eyes and black hair. 

“Hello. I’m Deidre.” 

“I model for Westwood too, we’ll probably see each other around,” he told her, giving her body a good looking-over. 

“Uh…yeah, I suppose we will,” Gwen blushed under his gaze. 

“Well, I’d better be off,” he sighed, then sidled away from her. Where was Sherlock? Finally, he came back and joined her side. 

“Where have you been?” Gwen demanded. 

“I thought I saw someone I knew,” he answered, then shrugged as if he must have just seen a look-alike. 

They stayed at the party for hours, and for the most part, it was just a lot of fake and boring interactions. Gwen realized that she and Sherlock weren’t the only people playing a role at the party – every single person there seemed incredibly phony. Finally, assuming that they weren’t going to get anywhere at this gala, they gathered up their things to leave, when they heard a blood-curdling scream. 

When they rushed in the direction, what they saw was gruesome: Mai was on the floor, her head a bloody mess, the skull exposed. She had been scalped and was obviously dead. Otherwise, she seemed intact, although her shoes were missing. 

They heard another model weeping, being comforted by her date, and she sobbed, “They wanted her to get a haircut! She didn’t want to because of her religion.”   
Gwen and Sherlock exchanged a look before leaving to go back to 221B to think.


	18. Spooning and Sulking

“Do you have anything I could wear? This dress is not the most comfortable thing,” Gwen asked once they were in the Baker Street flat. 

Sherlock disappeared for a few moments and came back in with a pair of men’s pajama pants and a long-sleeve t-shirt. 

“You can wear these. They’re John’s. You’re about his height; they should fit you well enough.” 

Since Sherlock had already seen her naked, she figured there was no reason she couldn’t change in the middle of his living room. She started to take off her dress, but Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom to change himself. Gwen shucked the dress onto the floor and changed into the much more comfortable pajamas. A moment later, Sherlock came out wrapped in a white sheet. 

“That’s what you’re wearing?” she asked. 

“It was the fastest thing to put on.” 

“Are you wearing anything underneath it?” 

“No.” 

He sat down on a chair and picked up his violin and began playing a tune he was making up as he went. Gwen found some paper and began to scribble facts on it, trying to make sense of these serial murders. 

“We need a connection, something that isn’t obvious, something we have to figure out,” Gwen guessed. After a while, her brain started to get a bit cloudy and she needed a break. “Can I look at your body parts?” she asked, referring to the human bits she was sure Sherlock had somewhere in his kitchen.

“No. I don’t want anybody to interfere with my experiments.” 

“Please? I just want a peek.”

“No.” 

“Fine,” Gwen said, turning her back to Sherlock and curling up on the couch, sulking. “I don’t even like what you’re playing,” she said over her shoulder poutily, although she very much liked what he was playing. 

“Move,” Sherlock said to her back, standing in front of the couch with the sheet loosely wrapped around his waist. 

“No.” 

“Fine,” he pouted, joining her in the same position on what room was left behind her, so that they were both crabbily spooning. 

At that moment, Alice and John entered with the intention of having a nightcap after their dinner. When they saw Sherlock spooning Gwen on the couch wearing nothing but a sheet, they both just stared awkwardly for a moment. 

“What in the world is going on?” John asked, although he didn’t really want to know. “Is she wearing my clothes?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said without looking. 

“You left a designer Westwood dress on the floor?” Alice demanded in horror. Nobody answered her as she picked up the dress carefully and gently hung it over the back of a chair. 

“Nope. Don’t want to know,” John finally decided.

“Come on, we can have that drink at my flat,” Alice told him, and a moment later they were gone. 

After about ten minutes of this sulky cuddling, something clicked in Alice’s brain. 

“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed, then shifted herself around so that she was facing Sherlock. Their faces were mere centimeters apart, and neither of them seemed uncomfortable from the proximity. He raised his eyebrows in curiosity to figure out what she had figured out. 

“Something that all the victims have in common is that a part of their name is a homophone for a word. For example, Ming Yoo and Will Harper, you get what?”

“Yoo Will…you will,” Sherlock caught on.

“You can take ‘Bea’ from Anna Bea Brewster, and the last one was Mailyn Ty, but she goes by ‘Mai’.”

“You will be my…you will be my what?” 

“I don’t know. We need to figure it out before the next victim gets murdered,” Gwen insisted, and they were both laid out on the couch, face to face, pondering the murder.


	19. Sherblocked

When John and Alice arrived at her flat, she poured them each a glass of wine and they sat on the couch. 

“Gwen and Sherlock seem to be hitting it off,” Alice commented. 

“I never thought I’d see him cuddling with a woman, but I saw it with my own eyes,” John agreed.

“It should be obvious, really. They are exactly like each other. Perfect matches.” 

They talked about this subject for a while. When they had both finished their wine, John could no longer resist the allure of her in her red dress and leaned in to kiss her. Their kisses began slowly but passionately, but before long, their tongues began to explore each other’s mouths. Alice got half of his shirt undone when he began to kiss his way down her neck. He ran his hands down her back and when his fingers brushed over her spine when he got to her lower back, she gasped – he had found the spot that made her melt. 

His mouth returned to hers and they collapsed back on the couch, Alice quickly undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. Alice broke the kiss, breathing heavily. 

“Bedroom?” she asked, thinking it would be more comfortable to have a bit more room. 

They both stood and Alice immediately grabbed him and put her mouth back on his, walking backwards in the direction of her bedroom, John unzipping her dress as they went. They collapsed on her bed and he slid the dress off her shoulders, getting it halfway off. He was kissing down her neck and across her collarbone when his phone let out a text tone in his pocket.   
He tried to ignore it, sliding a hand up to her chest, his mouth still hot on her neck, but the phone sounded again. He sighed in frustration and pulled the device out of his pocket, looking at the two texts on the screen while Alice waited. 

Come immediately. – SH

It’s urgent. – SH

John let out an annoyed groan and rested his forehead on Alice’s shoulder, figuring out how to tell her what he was about to say. 

“It’s Sherlock. He wants me to come back to the flat. Says it’s urgent.” 

“Oh, well it sounds important. Maybe you should go,” Alice responded.

“Yes, but I know Sherlock, and it probably isn’t important, but it might be, and I just…”

“It’s okay. He’s your best friend. I understand,” she told him, stroking the hair on the back of his head.

“You do?” John raised his head to look at the beautiful woman before him. He’d never had a woman be so understanding before – usually the women he dated became jealous of his willingness to drop everything for his flat mate. 

“Of course. I think you should go, it’s alright.” 

John placed a kiss on her lips, then stood up to go find his shirt and try to figure out how to calm down a certain part of his anatomy. Alice also got off the bed and pulled her dress back up over her bra to walk him to the door. She gave him one last affectionate kiss before he went off to see what Sherlock’s big emergency was.


	20. An Angry Flat Mate

“You called me over here to ask me to bring my laptop to you?” John thundered. 

“It’s on the other side of the room,” Sherlock explained, as if this were an adequate excuse. Gwen was nowhere to be seen, and Sherlock was just sitting on the couch in his sheet, deep in thought. 

“I was trying to…to get off with Alice!” he shouted, his fingers rubbing his temples. 

“I was trying to solve a string of murders, I certainly think that’s more important than your sexual urges,” Sherlock replied darkly.

“You could have just walked across the room,” John pointed out. He was ignored. “Where’s Gwen?”

“She got tired. She’s in my bed.” 

“Of course,” John began muttering to himself as he handed Sherlock the computer and wandered back into his room, “he gets to have a woman in his bed, but when I am in bed with a woman, Sherlock needs to borrow my computer.” He slammed his door behind him. 

Sherlock opened a search engine and typed in: 

You will be my

Son? No. Witnesses? Certainly not. Squishy? What did that even mean? None of the potential results seemed helpful. Finally, he realized that he hadn’t slept in two days and that his mind might do better with some sleep. He entered his bedroom, removed his sheet, and tossed it on the bed over the covers before sliding naked into bed next to the slumbering Gwen. 

When Gwen awoke, she opened her eyes to see a sleeping Sherlock Holmes in bed with her. He was clearly at least shirtless – she wasn’t about to investigate if he had bothered to put anything on the lower half of his body. She suspected not. While she was thinking these thoughts, he opened his eyes, the icy blue looking into the deep hazel. 

It only took a moment for Gwen to realize that his pupils were dilated. Surely it couldn’t be the lighting – the sun was shining brightly through the window. She only saw it for a moment, because he jumped out of bed, taking the sheet with him, and giving her a quick glimpse of his bare backside as he wrapped the sheet around his waist. Thinking she must have imagined it – Sherlock Holmes didn’t have romantic feelings – she just hopped out of bed and prepared to go get fixed up by Alice so that she could start her modeling career at Westwood Studios.


	21. The Other Side of the Camera

Gwen had no idea how Alice did everything she did. She watched as her friend scrambled around, sewing, pinning, measuring, cutting fabrics, bringing people coffee, scribbling down notes in a planner. Although she was always moving, always doing something, her friend managed to keep calm and organized. It was amazing. Gwen herself wasn’t passionate enough about any one thing for it to keep her attention that long – she had many passions and interests, and moved between them as she felt like it. She was impressed at Alice’s ability to focus on one thing for so long. 

Gwen’s first assignment as a model was to do a sexy photo shoot with a male model, and she was incredibly nervous to say the least. Alice told her that while she was pretending to be a model, it had to seem realistic, so she had to do normal modeling jobs. The girls chatted while Alice did her hair and makeup, just another one of the many talents she had. 

“So, are you ever going to admit that you’re falling for Sherlock?” Alice prodded.

“What do you mean? We like to bounce ideas off of each other to try figuring out these murders.” 

“You were spooning. While he was in nothing but a thin sheet.” 

“That’s not my fault, he wanted to sulk and I was there first.” 

“See? You two have a ridiculous amount in common. You think the same way, you talk the same way, you even pout the same way.” At this, Gwen rolled her eyes as if trying to say that Alice’s theory was ridiculous. “Remember in college, when you told me that you could never love a man that you didn’t respect as much as you respect yourself? Well he IS you, Gwen. Besides, I think he feels the same way.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwen grouched, although her thoughts went back to Sherlock’s dilated pupils that morning. 

“Fine, I’ll shut up about it. Just think about it, okay? Here, go change.” 

Alice had given her a lacy bra and panties to wear, and she went into the photography room in a robe, incredibly self-conscious. She had never been in front of the camera before, she was usually the one behind it. Then she saw who she was to be taking pictures with. It was the guy from the party, Theodore, was it? He was wearing black boxer briefs that hugged everything.

“Hi again,” he smiled at her. 

“Hi,” she said nervously, blushing. 

A camera was set up and pointed at a bed with the covers intentionally mussed. They were directed to get into the bed and Gwen removed her robe and got in as quickly as possible. 

At first it was awkward to take racy pictures with a complete stranger, but after a while she started to get used to it, and the photographer and Theodore were very nice. It felt like she was there for hours, taking hundreds of pictures: cuddling; faces close together as if they were about to kiss. The one Ted seemed to enjoy the most was one when he was directed to pin her down on the bed and look smugly at the camera. When the photo shoot was finally over, Gwen had to admit that she actually even felt sexier. 

She put her robe back on and was leaving to get dressed again. 

“See you around, Deidre,” Ted said with a smile. 

“Yeah, see you around Ted.” 

When she left the photography studio, she was shocked to find that everybody was running around frantically, freaking out. 

“What’s happened?” she asked a man who was walking by. 

“There’s been another murder! Dolly Venetti, she’s been bludgeoned!” the flamboyant-sounding man replied.

Gwen wandered toward where everyone seemed to be going, but she kept getting lost – this studio was huge. She turned down an empty hallway and was about to turn around to go back when suddenly, something grabbed her from behind. She blacked out before she could even scream.


	22. The Final Murder

Sherlock arrived and examined the body of Dolly Venetti. She had been bludgeoned in the nose – a stylist had informed him that a nose job had been suggested to her earlier in the week. Instantly, Sherlock’s mind remembered the message that the victims’ names spelled out. 

You will be my dolly. 

What did that mean? For the rest of the day, he helped with the investigation. He picked up a picture off of her dressing table – the corpse was wearing the same outfit as in the picture, except that the dress had a big, pink, poofy petticoat under it. 

It was starting to get dark outside when everything was being cleaned up. Suddenly, he became aware that Gwen wasn’t around. 

“Where’s Gwen?” he asked Alice frantically as she was getting ready to leave for the day.

“I don’t know. She went to do a photo shoot this morning and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve been so busy I didn’t notice.” 

Sherlock looked suspicious for a moment, then rushed off. Alice followed about half an hour later, deciding to go to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock’s sudden hurried departure made her nervous about her friend. When she got there, there was a yellow envelope attached to the door with Sherlock’s name on it, so she grabbed it before going inside. 

“This was left on the door for you,” she said, handing Sherlock the envelope. “Nice shirt,” she added, being unable not to comment on the tight, silky purple shirt he was wearing. She gave John a quick kiss and the two looked over Sherlock’s arm as he sat down and looked at the contents of the envelope. Inside were the pictures from Gwen’s photo shoot with Ted that day. The last picture showed Ted pinning Gwen to the bed and looking at the camera tauntingly. Scrawled across the bottom of the picture in black marker were the words:

I just love playing with dolls. 

Alice saw Sherlock’s eyes flash with rage as he put two and two together. “You will be my dolly” and “I just love playing with dolls.” 

“He has her,” he said, more to himself than anyone.

“Who? Ted the model?” Alice asked, confused. 

“He’s not a model,” Sherlock informed her, standing up to pace while he thought out loud. 

“Oh my God…you love her,” John blurted out, seeing Sherlock’s face become even whiter than it normally was. 

“What? Oh, don’t be ridiculous, John,” he replied grumpily.

“You do,” Alice agreed. “Don’t worry, she loves you too.” This last remark was ignored.

“Where has he taken her?” Alice demanded, suddenly extremely frightened. Her eyes teared up as she realized that she had put her friend in danger by asking her to pose as a model. John held her close and stroked her hair. 

“Dolls,” Sherlock mumbled to himself, staring into space as his mind raced, “things you dress up in pretty clothes and play with, like toy fashion models, but where would he take her?” He pulled out his phone and did a quick search. “Aha!” he shouted triumphantly, grabbing his coat and scarf and making his way toward the door. Alice started to follow him but John held her back.   
“No, you’re staying here, it’s too dangerous,” he told her. 

“She’s my best friend and this is my fault!” Alice shouted, tears running down her face. “I’m coming with you!” John was about to protest, but she stopped him. “I might be safer with you than here alone,” she pointed out. Thinking that this was an excellent point, the three piled into a cab and went off to a doll shop that Sherlock had discovered.


	23. All Dolled Up

Gwen awoke and had no idea where she was. She could tell that she was blindfolded and that she was being held from running away by something incredibly strong. She was still wearing the lingerie and robe from the photo shoot. A moment later, she felt warm breath on her neck. Someone was behind her, and that person was removing her robe. 

“Who are you?” she demanded, trembling with fear. “Why are you doing this?” she tried to struggle against her captor, but it didn’t do any good.

“Don’t be like, that,” the familiar voice said in her ear, “you’ll spoil the fun.” 

“Ted?!” she asked in disbelief, recognizing the voice of her modeling partner from the photo shoot. 

“Oh, dear…I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed,” he said, almost giddily. “I’m Jim Moriarty. I can see why Sherlock fancies you,” he said tauntingly, his hands on her hips, making her skin crawl as he pressed against her back, “but I’m a bit disappointed. I never expected him to turn out to be so…ordinary,” he sighed in dismay.

“You’re sick,” Gwen spat, her tears of fright being absorbed by her blindfold. 

“Maybe I am,” he said, as if he were completely okay with this assessment of him. Then he changed the subject, putting some kind of clothes on her as he spoke. “Isn’t it fun to play dress up, just like a doll?” 

He finished dressing her and grabbed her hair, playing with it while she shivered from his breath on her neck. It felt like he was twisting it into pigtails. 

“You’re such a pretty little dolly,” he said into her ear. “You’re going to be my favorite one to play with,” he finished before she felt his tongue lick a wet trail up her neck. Right then, her blindfold was removed and she was turned to face a reflective window. She looked in horror at herself. He must have painted rosy circles onto her cheeks while she was unconscious. She had on a horrid dress with green sleeves, a white top, a blue skirt, a pink petticoat and silver shoes. Gwen realized that he had made a dress out of parts of the murder victims’ outfits: Ming Yoo’s sleeves, Will Harper’s white tank top, Anna Bea Brewster’s skirt, Mai Ty’s shoes, and Dolly’s petticoat. To top it off, her hair was in childish pigtails, wrapped with ribbons. She really did look like a terrifying, oversized doll.

“What is wrong for you?” she asked, tears sliding down her face now that they were unimpeded by the blindfold, the salty water creating ugly trails of white in the middle of the pink circles on her face. At that moment, she heard a door burst open, and in came Sherlock, John, and Alice. 

“There you are, it’s about time,” Moriarty said impatiently. “Although I hope you don’t think I’d let you play with my toys,” he continued, his eyes widening with feigned innocence, although a trace of a smirk was on his mouth.

John stepped protectively in front of Alice, pulling out a gun and pointing it at Moriarty. 

“It’s always soooo cute to see your guard dog rush to your protection,” he taunted. 

“I must apologize for not being amused,” Sherlock responded darkly. 

“Oh, yes, you never did know how to have any fun.” Sherlock glared at him when he said this. “Well, it’s been fun playing with you, but I’m getting tired. Guess we’ll have to finish this up later. Byeeee!” he practically squealed, pushing the door open sassily and disappearing. John lowered his gun, looking at the door to see if the psychopath was going to change his mind and come back. 

Alice ran over to hug Gwen, crying with relief. She helped her friend walk down to a waiting cab. Sherlock decided to take her to his flat to make sure she was okay, while John said he’d see Alice home.


	24. All in the Name of Science

Sherlock let Gwen sleep for about 24 hours in his bed – she had been rather traumatized by Moriarty and was still in a bit of a daze from having been drugged. She needed the rest. He had even changed her out of that awful dress and into John’s pajamas so that she would be more comfortable. 

When she finally woke up, she saw where she was and wandered out of bed to find Sherlock playing a beautiful melody on his violin. When he saw her, he set the instrument down and looked at her for a few moments. 

“I have something for you,” he said in a straightforward manner, surprising her. 

“What is it?” 

He led her into the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a cookie tray full of severed fingers. 

“I got these for you. You can experiment on them,” he told her. When he looked into her eyes, he saw that her pupils were enormous. He suddenly had the odd suspicion that his were too. They were, in fact, and this was not unnoticed by Gwen. 

“You got me body parts to experiment on?” she asked carefully, stepping closer. He put the cookie tray back into the fridge to keep her gift preserved. 

Gwen put a hand on his chest – he was wearing a silky purple shirt that contrasted gorgeously against his pale skin and black hair. She could feel his heart racing, confirming what the pupils in his eyes gave away. 

“Your heart is beating rather quickly,” she told him. “And your pupils are dilated.” 

“I am aware,” was all the response she got. 

“Thank you for the fingers,” she said, quite sincerely – it was sweet of them to get them for her, “but there is another body I’d like to try an experiment on.” Sherlock gave her a questioning look, genuinely not understanding what she meant. “Yours,” she told him, sliding her hand down his chest and over his stomach, removing her hand when she got to his belt. 

At this, something in Sherlock’s eyes changed and he put a hand on her face as he slowly, hesitantly, determinedly, and experimentally lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her as if it were the first time. She, with equal tentativeness, kissed him back, her hands resting on his chest again. When he broke the kiss, he looked a bit lost, like he didn’t know what to do with how he felt. 

“You think sentiment is a weakness,” she said plainly, guessing his feelings. “But was it not the fact that you care for me that caused you to find me so quickly and rescue me from a psychotic serial killer?” 

“Regard for others has been scientifically proven to be an excellent motivator,” he said logically. 

“Alice has informed me that we are alike in many ways, and guessed that this has caused me to develop romantic feelings for you,” Gwen told him. She grabbed him by the front of his purple shirt and dragged him out of the kitchen. “Every hypothesis needs experimentation to prove its accuracy,” she stated, pulling him into his bedroom. “Let’s call this my lab,” she started, then pushed him onto the bed, “this my laboratory table,” and finally she crawled on top of him, her face just an inch from his as he put his arms gently around her waist, “and this is the control,” she whispered before pressing her lips to his, surprised at how passionately he kissed her back. She broke the kiss and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Of course, many variables will need to be tested,” she told him, placing a kiss on his neck. Sherlock finally spoke again. 

“I am more than happy to be a test subject,” he said, almost cheekily, bringing his mouth up to hers and allowing his hands to explore her body before he began to undress her.


	25. Good News and Good Times

John walked up to Alice’s flat with her and she offered to make them dinner. They ate shepherd’s pie and discussed what all had happened in the last few weeks. During dinner, Alice’s phone rang, and she was surprised to see that it was Vivienne Westwood. 

“Hello?...What?...Oh my God, that would be amazing!...Thank you so much!” When she hung up, John looked at her curiously. “Dame Westwood wants to put on a fashion show using my designs!” 

“That’s great!” John shared in the excitement with his girlfriend. He was so proud of her. 

When they were finished, Alice stood in front of the sink and turned the water on to rinse the dishes. She started to hold a plate under the water when she felt John’s arms wrap around her waist from behind, his body pressed into her back. 

She set down the plate when he started to kiss her neck, occasionally sucking on the soft skin there. She turned the water off and just enjoyed the sensation. 

“I suppose the dishes can wait until tomorrow,” she whimpered as his mouth moved across her shoulder, one hand sliding up to her chest. She turned around and grabbed John’s head, kissing him passionately as her hands ran through his hair. Her tongue slid into his mouth and he remembered that spot on her back that drove her crazy, quickly running his fingers over it, making her moan into his mouth. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around his waist, and John wasted no time in walking her to her bedroom, placing her on the bed and lowering himself on top of her. They began to pull at each other’s clothes, frantically trying to remove them.

Alice slid her hand into John’s pocket, pulling out his phone. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, his breath heavy. 

“Making sure that Sherlock Holmes has to wait until I’m done with you,” she said teasingly, silencing the phone and tossing it onto a nearby chair before working on undoing his belt.


	26. The End

John was happy to wake up the next morning spooning a beautiful naked girl. After they had a leisurely breakfast, John left to go back to 221B Baker Street to make sure that Sherlock and Gwen were okay. When he walked in, he found Sherlock on the couch, Gwen cuddled up in his arms with her back against his chest, and the two of them were both wrapped up in the same sheet. John had the feeling neither of them was wearing anything underneath it. Gwen freed her hands, which were holding a gun, to shoot at the yellow smiley face painted onto the wallpaper. 

“Nope. Don’t want to know,” John said, turning toward the door and thinking that it would be a good time to go have tea with the landlady, Mrs. Hudson.


End file.
